The Unwilling Bride

by Candy-Ann Little

  “So tell me, Dillon, which side are you on?” Her sweet smile covered her true intentions. She planned to pry as much information from Dillon Cade as feasible under the guise of idle talk. If anyone knew her parents’ plan, he did. She would use every feminine wile to extract the information.

  “As a journalist I remain neutral. The first amendment of the Bill of Rights gives me the freedom to print both sides of the story. However, the Federalists are cracking down on anyone who disagrees with their point of view, leaving editors no choice except to print one side of the story. I disagree with their strong-arm tactics.”

  Alin cleared his throat. “Perhaps this conversation can wait until after dinner.”

  “But, Papa, I find this subject truly engaging.” Smiling at Dillon she said, “Please, continue.”

  Her green eyes aroused something inside Dillon whenever she looked his way. However, he had enough wits to realize she was playing him. If he answered her questions carefully, he could appease her while staying under the cloak of confidentiality.

  “President Adams has passed several acts that are disguised as protection acts. The sedition act silences any opposition to his party. I believe this infringes on the first amendment.”

  “How so?”

  “Sedition generally means any laws, acts, or words that encourage revolt against the government. I do not believe President Adams is worried about an upset of government. Mainly, he wants to silence Thomas Jefferson and the Anti-Federalist party. He has taken the sedition act to the extreme by requiring criminal penalties for anyone caught publishing information or opinions that disagree with him.”

  The conversation halted while Hilda bustled around the table. She took the tablecloth off and laid out a fresh, clean one, then proceeded to set out the second course.

  “Why is the government so worried about a revolt?” Caitlin asked. “America is not at war.”

  “Not officially. However an undeclared naval war has ensued since the X Y Z affair last year. Both President Adams and foreign minister Talleyrand are trying to avoid a declaration of war, but hostilities between America and France has been growing stronger, producing mistrust.”

  “Ireland seems to trust France. Theobald Wolfe Tone is trying to enlist their help against England,” Caitlin countered.

  She watched his face, searching for a hint of where he stood on that war. Surely he’d be on England’s side since he was born there. He may have lived in America for the past thirteen years, but he still had English blood running through his veins.

  “True. But their help is very limited. If they’d had better planning, Ireland would not have lost the battle two years ago.”

  “The weather turned bad and prevented the fleet from arriving. France has no control over the weather.” Her brother, Dwayne had been killed in that battle. She blamed England for his death, not France.

  “Aye, but had they had a more experienced captain the ships would have made it.”

  “Perhaps, but some things are uncontrollable.” She felt the hurt and anger rising to the surface. “What about these criminal penalties?” Caitlin nibbled on the venison steak cooked in a wine sauce. “If the Anti-Federalists obtain control of the government by oppressing the competition, then they are in fact acting as a dictatorship, and that would tread on the Constitution.”

  “Exactly.” Dillon marveled at her discernment. She was far more than just another pretty face; she’d been schooled well. “It would undermine the entire reason we fought for independence. Freedom and the Constitution would then be obsolete.” He took a helping of potatoes and pickled green beans.

  “I recognize what you’re saying, however, there is one thing I do not understand.” Caitlin drew her brows together and puckered her thin lips. “Mama told me we now have to reside in America for fourteen years instead of the normal five years before we can apply for citizenship. Why would the government be concerned with immigrants’ status?” As interesting as she found his opinions and views, she needed to get the conversation back to her goal. “How does making an immigrant wait longer to become a citizen help with war efforts?”

  “It does not.” Dillon shook his head. “The naturalization act only makes immigrants ineligible to vote in the next election. Since Mr. Jefferson is heavily relying on European immigrant votes, it will hurt his campaign.”

  “It seems like all these acts have been passed to stop Mr. Jefferson’s effort for presidency.” This information seemed of no use to her, although he held his end of the conversation very well. She hadn’t had a discussion this gratifying since the last time she’d debated with her scholar over the Irish Revolution, two years prior.

  “’Tis what I believe also.” Dillon lathered his oyster bread with butter.

  “You really should try this squash and peanut pie, Dillon,” Alin interrupted. “No one cooks squash like Hilda.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dillon took the serving bowl. After taking his portion he handed the dish to Caitlin and smiled. He felt the temperature rise a little as Caitlin fluttered her long lashes and smiled coyly.

  Hilda removed the dishes, then once again replaced the dirty tablecloth with a fresh white, linen cloth as she served the next course. The conversation turned to lighter matters.

  After Hilda removed the dirty dishes and tablecloth, she then set out the desserts on the plain wooden table. Edict dictated that no tablecloth be used on the dessert table. China plates were filled with an array of lemon teacakes, raspberry tarts, filbert pudding with apricot sauce and chocolate truffles.

  After dessert, everyone retired to the parlor savoring cups of coffee and tea.

  Caitlin smiled and played the part of a dutiful hostess. Careful to only ask acceptable questions, biding her time patiently until the right moment presented itself. “Dillon, ‘tis such a lovely night, I wondered if you might accompany me on walk through the garden?”

  “Of course.” He set his cup and saucer down and stood.

  “Do not forget a wrap,” Kathleen insisted. “The air is getting chilly.”

  “Of course, Mama.” Caitlin stepped into the hall and got her wrap, while Dillon grabbed his topper off the hat rack.

  She smiled and accepted his assistance with her shawl. “We won’t be long,” she yelled into the parlor before stepping through the door that Dillon held open.

  * * *

  Dillon and Caitlin walked along the moonlit path until they came upon a bench nestled beneath the Spanish trees. “Can we rest here?” Her entire body felt like it was on fire. She didn’t know if her muscles would make it any further.

  “Of course, my lady.” He helped her sit. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Aye.” She looked up at the sky. “The moon certainly is luminous.”

  “‘Tis very brilliant, but it pales in comparison to your beauty.”

  “Why, sir, if I did not know better I’d say you are flirting with me.”

  “You do not find it fitting for a man to pay attention to his bride-to-be?”

  “If his attentions are genuine.”

  “I assure you, my attentions are nothing but honest.” Taking a seat beside her on the tiny bench, he inhaled the sweet scent of rose water wafting from her delicate skin. “You truly shine brighter than the stars.”

  Caitlin’s laughter mingled with the sounds of the night. “I perceive, sir that you overindulged in the spirits before supper.”

  “Your beauty intoxicates me.”

  Caitlin cocked her head and admired the man sitting beside her. His curly, brown hair had been pulled into a ponytail allowing full view of his face. The soft, silvery light cascading from the moon highlighted the high cheekbones and angled features. Fine lines etched his eyes and mouth, giving him a distinctive handsome quality. “Am I to assume that a man as handsome as yourself has failed to find other beautiful women?”

  “I have met a few.”

  “And have you told these others the same lines you’re repeating now?”

 
His dark eyes danced with mischief. “Do you not think me sincere?”

  “Nay.”

  “Why, your beauty reminds me of a poem.

  ‘If astar were confined into a tomb,

  Her captive flames must needs burn there,

  But when the hand that lock’d her up gives room,

  She’ll shine through all the sphere.’”

  “Henry Vaughn. I’m impressed with your selection.” She could identify being confined to a tomb. That is what marriage would be like.

  “Do you like Vaughn?” Dillon asked.

  “Aye. But I’m more partial to Shakespeare.”

  “I find him a bit too tragic for my taste.”

  “To each his own.” She found the conversation about poetry intriguing. His easygoing disposition and quick wit were refreshing compared to the childish boys who’d previously courted her. “I have one for you.”

  “’Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright

  in the forests of the night,

  what immortal hand or eye,

  dare frame thy fearful symmetry?’”

  “A more modern poet. William Blake is a favorite of mine.”

  “I also like the writings of Robert Burns.”

  “Ah! The famous Scottish poet.” He smiled showing his perfect teeth.

  Caitlin felt a flutter in her stomach – an experience only felt once before. The first time she’d accompanied her father to Dillon’s printing shop. At fifteen, she’d felt a flutter every time he smiled, but quickly dismissed the tingling sensations as a child’s infatuation. Now, looking at him as a perspective husband somehow changed his appearance. Even though he had an incredibly handsome face, he was still the person trying to take her freedom away.

  “May I be permitted to ask a question?” She calmly met his gaze.

  “Of course.”

  “Why have you asked for my hand in marriage?”

  “Ahh, Caitlin. I should have known you’d get straight to the point.” The quiet sounds of the night disappeared as he contemplated his answer. He couldn’t tell her that he’d agreed to the marriage for her protection. Not only would that give her parent’s plan away, moreover it might be a lie. Marrying him could well endanger her life. He had no idea how far the Federalists would go in trying to seize power. They could decide that simply imprisoning editors would not be harsh enough, and execute them for treason.

  He took in her gentle features and brilliant green eyes, sparkling brighter than the stars filling the autumn sky. “You are very beautiful. Any man would count himself fortunate to gain a jewel as rare as you.”

  “So I’m to be another possession to you?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I will cherish you.”

  “You do not even know me.”

  “I’d like to rectify that.”

  “I still do not understand why the haste? Why not court me in the normal manner?” She had to hold her temper and be patient. Loosening her tongue now would only produce disaster. Feeling confident about gaining the information she desired from him, she smiled, playing her part perfectly.

  “I know everything is happening quickly. However, I do intend to win your favor.” Reaching inside his over coat he produced a neatly wrapped package. “If you will accept a gift from me.”

  Caitlin’s stunned silence amused him. “I really should not,” she protested. “But I do love presents.” Her eyes gleamed as her fingers hastily unwrapped the package. “Oh, Dillon. It’s exquisite.”

  “It meets with your approval?”

  “How could it not?” She’d never seen a piece of jewelry like it. A large square diamond set in the center of a silver broach while small, round ones encircled it.

  “May I pin it on you?”

  “Of course.” She handed him the broach.

  “Are you sure you like it? You seem a bit uncertain.” He fastened it to her shawl.

  “It’s lovely, only so expensive. I’m not sure I should accept it.”

  “’Tis not improper for a gentleman to buy his bride a gift.”

  “But I haven’t accepted your proposal yet.”

  “Oh.” His dark brows shot up. “Your father informed me that we are to wed in two weeks.”

  “He informed me of the same thing. However, I’m of legal age to do as I like.” She stood and a jolt of pain shot up her back. She clenched her teeth, thoughtlessly smoothing the front of her dress as she walked a few steps away. The close approximation of the little bench played havoc on her nerves.

  “Are you in pain?”

  She turned to face him. “My slipper is a bit tight and pinches my toes.”

  “I see.” He stood, not moving from his spot, yet his wide shoulders seemed to loom over her. “Are you sure you are not bruised from the fall?”

  She smiled sweetly, keeping her gaze level with his. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Brogan told me about your botched escape.”

  “That rat!” She crossed her arms and winced.

  “Is marriage that unfavorable?” He stepped closer. “Or is it I that you loathe?”

  “I do not wish to be united with anyone at this time.”

  “I see.” Dillon spread his legs and folded his arms behind his back. “Have you told your parents?”

  “I require your assistance in that matter.” She smiled. “You can tell Papa that you have changed your mind and you do not wish to marry me.” She fluttered her lashes. “He’ll listen to you. I just know it.”

  “Am I to assume that they did not hearken to your protests?”

  “They are both being so stubborn.” She stalked over the rose bushes, ignoring the pain and delicately picked a bloom. “You, Mr. Cade, are my last chance.” She played with the soft petals.

  Hearing the desperation in her voice made him regret the situation altogether. He’d been fearful about taking a bride against her will, no matter what the circumstances were. Nonetheless, after carefully examining the facts, he had decided it would be the best course of action. The major problem would be convincing Caitlin of that.

  “I understand your reservations…”

  “You understand!” She whirled around pricking her finger with a thorn. “How can you understand anything when you are a party to this madness!” Tears gathered in her eyes.

  “I can imagine how you feel,” he said, softly. “If the boot was quite on the other leg, I’d feel the same way.”

  “But you would never be in this position because you’re a man.”

  “And you suppose that men never have feelings of hopelessness? That we do not feel forced into situations? My dear Caitlin, why do you think men go to war?”

  “Perhaps they feel compelled to defend themselves, but when the battle has ended they have freedom to show for their efforts. ‘Tis more than I will ever have.”

  “Caitlin.” His gentle tone eased her anger. “I do not want to force you into anything.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You’ll talk to Papa?”

  He closed the distance between them. “There are circumstances that compel me to do this.”

  “You won’t help me then?” Her green eyes bore into his. She saw tenderness and even pity residing in his brown orbs, but something kept him from yielding to her wishes.

  “I wish I could.” He watched a tear drip unto the rose, mingling with the drops of blood that marred the white petals. “You’ve hurt your finger.”

  She looked down unaware that she’d even been pricked. The thorn in her heart hurt more than her finger. “’Tis nothing.”

  He lifted her slender hand to inspect the wound. “I don’t have my handkerchief,” he said as a few more drops fell. Instinctively putting her finger to his mouth he sucked the wound, totally unprepared for the jolt that surged through him.

  Feeling the electricity also, Caitlin jerked her hand away. “You, sir, are a rake,” she said breathlessly. “You try and bamboozle me into marriage just so you can have your way with me.”

  “I have no such in
tentions.”

  “Then why the haste? Something is amiss and you are cognizant to it.”

  “You are correct, Caitlin. There is more to this matter. However, I am not at liberty to say anything.”

  “You can compel me into wedlock but cannot tell me why, how noble of you, sir.” Anger mounted until her smooth, pale face became aflamed.

  “I can assure you if there were any other way of protecting you I would take it. But particulars have tied both your parent’s hands, and mine. We are only doing what we feel is best.”

  “Best for whom?” she sneered. “My parents seem content having me hang on your sleeve. Have I become such a burden to them that they no longer wish me around?”

  Dillon grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around until he peered into her eyes. “Your parents love you. ‘Tis why they are doing this.”

  “And what about you, Mr. Cade?” Her eyes pierced his soul. “Why are you willing to oblige yourself in the confines of marriage to someone you barely know?”

  He pondered his answer for a long moment before softly saying, “’Tis my duty.”

  “What do you know of duty? You, sir, have no honor.” She shrugged free of his clasp, crying out in pain. “If you had any sense of honor or duty, you’d explain the situation to me. Do I not have the right to make my own decisions?”